


A Void All Your Own

by vulpesoleil



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Don't Go, M/M, Mentioned Mercedes von Martritz, Mercie wants only the best for you, POV Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, POV Felix Hugo Fraldarius, POV First Person, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Unrequited, alternating pov, really? after all these years? right in front of my salad?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22968742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpesoleil/pseuds/vulpesoleil
Summary: Felix is feeling lost after the war and is about to just skip town. Who knows, maybe he'll put his sword back to use and find some mercenary work. Unless someone stops him.-First person, alternating POV, centering around Felix and Dimitri. Some things are easier to say after a long war and a dozen tragedies.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Intro

It was just an idea at first, but I think I'll really do it.

What purpose do I have here in the capital? Everyone seems to have settled into their forced-bliss, post-war lives, but not me. Now that the fighting is done—as if that's ever the case—everyone assumes their natural roles in society once more. Researcher. Professor. Baker. Knight.

King.

I've been asked countless times when I'll return home and swing around my new title of Duke. _Or will you remain here as a knight in service of the King?_

He's practically a god now. Looking at him makes me want to retch. Hearing others worship him, even more so. Don't they know what he did to regain his place here? How many throats torn open, viscera clinging to his face and hands? How he relished in the satisfaction of every one of their dying moments, speaking to the light fading in their eyes as though they would take his self-righteous words with them into the afterlife?

Even the ones that witnessed it seem to have forgotten. Our dear old classmates, so attached to their idea of him, what they wish he still was. Hell, I can relate. It's painful to realize the person you thought you knew is dead. In some ways, it's easier if they just die, as long as they die without making you question your every memory with them.


	2. There'll Always Be Need For a Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late-night chat with Mercedes.

Somewhere between training and bed, I find myself speaking to Mercedes. Just like that: just suddenly find myself there, spilling my guts. She has a way of making that happen; fuck if I know how. You realize halfway through your life story that you're standing there in front of her, with her lilac eyes fixed on you, hanging on every word but patient enough not to interrupt until you're done.

"You really want to leave?" she asks softly. With me, she usually tries to keep her responses a bit... impartial, knowing that anything too sappy will send me running. But right now, there's a tinge of regret in her voice. Fear, maybe.

"Why not?" I ask bitterly. "I'll not stand in that beast's army. And I'm no Duke. Duke Fraldarius is dead."

"Well," Mercedes offers after a thoughtful moment, "I'm not one to speak of abandoning one's title. You know that."

That's right. She's told me this story. How she ripped up the letter from her father and never looked back. Such a gigantic middle finger from someone as gentle and selfless as Mercedes; I respect her for it. Envy her, even.

"But do you really feel there's nothing for you here?" she goes on. It's a loaded question, one that's meant to make me look inward or something. I heave a short sigh.

"There isn't," I cut in bluntly. "Listen, I know what you're getting at. It's not that there aren't... people I give a shit about, here." She wants me to acknowledge the opposite, but I don't. "That's not the point. That doesn't get me out of bed in the morning. Maybe it does for you, but it doesn't for me."

She chews on that for a while. Maybe this is why it's so easy to find yourself spilling out your insides on Mercie's doorstep; she takes things at your level rather than trying to fit them into a mold that suits her. Well, for the most part. She's entirely too sentimental, but I admit she has a way of understanding others that's rare.

Did I just think of her as _Mercie?_ Annette's stupid nickname has rubbed off on me after all this time.

"I guess there's nothing wrong with getting away to find yourself," she says uncertainly. "As long as you come back. But, Felix... Mercenary work? We just got _away_ from all the fighting."

"Why does everyone keep assuming that no war means no fighting?" I snap. "You think everyone in the world is going to sing and hold hands now like they do in church? People kill and steal and revolt every day. There'll always be need for a sword."

"Well, of course. But that doesn't mean you need to be a part of it." Surprisingly, she raises her hand to quiet me before I speak. She's not usually one to interrupt. "I know you're a talented fighter. And I know your sword is part of who you are. I just mean to say that... we've lost so much already. I have, and you have. I don't want to lose _you,_ Felix."

She says things like that with such ease that I wonder how it still sounds so sincere. Uncharacteristically, it hits me in a weird spot. Maybe because I know she means it without even seeing the crinkle between her brows. I can't look at her now; my eyes scan the shadowed halls around us, pretending there's something to see.

"Don't worry," I say at last. I try to find the usual edge in my voice, but I'm not sure it's there. I sound cynical, but not harsh. "I don't intend to go out like my brother and father. You know me. If something doesn't look right, I don't risk it. I'm not like you, deciding someone reminds you of your little brother and jumping in front of danger for them."

This makes her laugh. It brings some much needed levity to the air around us, and I sigh imperceptibly with relief.

"You're right," she concedes, as always. Her voice is musical again, wordlessly agreeing to put the subject to bed. "But you told me I can keep thinking of you that way, so I will." She squeezes my arm gently, a gesture that surprises me so much I tense like I'm under attack. She sees that I'm startled and deftly ignores it. "I know you'll make the right decision, Felix. It's your life. Only you know how to live it. But I'm always here if you want to talk."

After a tense moment in which I struggle to think of what to say, I decide against the effort and shake out of her grip. Why bother responding to that? She knows how I feel anyway, damn her. "I'm going to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes is an actual angel and I will hear nothing to the contrary. Now that I think about it, this could have also been a chat with Sylvain... maybe he'll show up later.


	3. A Loose Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starring: the one person Felix didn't want to bump into.

Mercedes's words, rather than haunting and pestering me like they usually do, have a strangely uplifting effect when I wake up the next morning. She's damn right. It's _my_ life. I get out of bed more decisively than usual. Training is rigorous and rewarding. Even breakfast tastes better. After over a month of wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do now, it feels like I'm on the cusp of finding out the answer.

I force the blind spot where it needs to be. It all lines up, except for one loose thread that could pull it all apart, if meddled with. Pull _me_ apart.

But I won't give anyone the chance. Quietly, I make a few decisions. The day I'll do it, and what time. What I'll bring. Whether to leave a note, or none at all. There's a sense of freedom already, but something lurks underneath. It's like there's a great, wriggling creature in my chest, never still, never resting. I don't know its name until the moment his voice finds me in an empty hall.

"Felix."

It's panic. So unlike me. Fatal and idiotic. But I recognize it now, because it's what I feel when I realize it's _him_ speaking to me, and that we're alone. I refuse to even think his name.

I come to a halt in the corridor, my tap of my boot echoing across the tile. It's late; it would never be so quiet otherwise. A king has no business roaming around at this hour; a beast, however...

"Can I have a word?" he asks when I don't respond. Damn him. Feral beast, clawing at the thread. Leave it alone. _Leave me alone._

"Can I refuse?" Sarcasm. My best defense, and yet it plinks as uselessly as ever against his stupidly large frame.

"Of course," Dimitri admits. I turn my head just barely, keeping him at my back. I'll give him only as much attention as he forces from me. "...But I would appreciate it if you did not."

"What do you want?"

"Just to speak with you." I hear him come closer. My neck already aches with tension. He stops, hesitation in his steps and his voice. "I've been wondering... What is it you plan to do, now?"

My head turns farther, enough for him to see my face in profile. I squint at an indistinct spot on the wall, still refusing to face him.

"Why? You want me to kneel and swear my sword to you? Play bodyguard like Dedue? Not happening."

"I would never ask that of you," he says solemnly. He's difficult to offend. "You've served me more than you know. I'm the one indebted to you."

Served him? Does he mean the war? I scoff. "I didn't do it for you."

"Not the fighting. That's not what I mean." I hear him sigh, and we're quiet for a moment. "You still train daily," he begins, "just as often as during the war. You live to fight. So I ask: what will you do now? You would make a very effective mentor, if a tough one. Or, perhaps... mercenary work?"

The way he says it is off as hell. He's always been such shit at keeping anything under wraps. I immediately know he knows. My head tilts toward the ceiling, and I heave an angry sigh.

"Damn you, Mercedes," I bite out.

"Mercedes?" I can tell he's genuinely confused. I finally turn around, tired of speaking to my shoulder, and eager to get to the bottom of this so the conversation can be over. As much of a conversation as one can have with a beast.

I regret it at once. Since we've returned, we've been in close quarters like this maybe twice. I avoid his attempts to reach out to me, to attempt to be human, like the plague. I won't be his tool he uses to feel better and like everything is back to normal. He has everyone else for that.

Even in the dim light, I can tell with one glance that Dimitri still isn't sleeping at night. He's cleaned up a little since we returned, made something of his mop of hair at the insistence of his servants, but his eyes are still strained. Hollow underneath, and bleary. Maybe it's the late hour. His cheeks, at least, are no longer as dreadfully sunken as they were when we found his ghost haunting Garreg Mach.

He's some foreign in-between that I don't know, lost between that ghost and the Dimitri I once knew. I don't know this man, this cursed king. I know this, in my mind, but my body screams at me that a familiar face stands before me. Familiar, and missed. It waits to hear his voice again.

"In truth, it was the professor that told me of your plan," he says. "Don't be cross with him. I'm sure he only..." Dimitri trails off when he sees how confused I look—and then it dawns on us both. "Ah," he says. "I see. From Mercedes, to the professor, to me."

"Lovely," I growl. That'll be the last time I confide in Mercedes.

"She sought advice out of concern for you, I am sure," Dimitri insists. I get back to the point with haste.

"And what of it? I'll put my sword to use. Fighting is what I'm good at. You know a thing or two about that, boar king." He takes much too long to say anything, so long that I wonder what the hell his problem is.

"You are good at it," he says at last. "I could name dozens of times that I or someone we know would have died, had you not been there. Your skill is without question."

Why is he kissing my ass? "So use my sword here, instead of out there, is that what you're getting at? I already told you no."

"That's not why I want you to stay."

"Then get to the point!" I snap, trying hard to ignore those five little words. They don't mean a thing, not from a ghost. "Are you going to give me the same spiel Mercedes did? About how there are people here who care for me? They'll be fine. Or maybe you want me to go back home and be the new Lord Rodrigue for you? You know I'll never be him, or Glenn. I'm not here to fill their boots for you."

There's pain in his eyes the more I talk, and it's making me see red.

"Felix..." How dare he say my name that way? It creates so many bizarre sensations all at once that it's almost sickening. A drop from my chest down to my stomach, tingles along my arms, a knot in my throat. This is why I avoid him no matter the cost. His voice is so... heavy, so rich with feeling. Or what he convinces himself is feeling. I don't even know who's convincing who, anymore.

"I've failed you," he tells me, full of sorrow. I wish he'd choke on it. I wish I was anywhere else right now. "If you don't know what you are to me, I have been remiss. You're not your father, or your brother. You, Felix... you would leave a void all your own. One that I could not bear."

"Spare me the drama," I mutter. It's more of a whisper, really, Something is taking up so much space in my throat that I can hardly speak. My chest is heavy and tight. I'm trying so hard to look away, pull away, that it shocks me when he grips my arm. I stare up at him in disbelief. Even with one eye hidden behind that stupid patch, he conveys so much with only one, blue and boring into me.

"No!" he insists. "You must listen. I must say this."

"Must I?" I jerk my arm out of his grip. "Now that I wish to leave, you have so much to say? What could the king of beasts possibly have to say to me?" My voice is unsteady. I hate it.

"Once I'm done, you can curse me and go," he says, and I feel the weight of command in his voice even though he doesn't say it. _You'll hear what I have to say._ "I won't live another moment without making this clear. You've never left my mind, or my spirit, even when you've been away. When I've strayed, or faltered, you've always been the strength I lacked. Even when you're not there, or haven't said a thing, I hear your voice. Reminding me what lies outside my narrow-mindedness. Reminding me of my purpose."

I huff out a small breath. "So I'm your conscience." Cool.

"No, Felix. You are... everything, to me." What does that mean? "I will never forgive my cowardice in never having said so, too afraid of your scorn for what I am. You've always been right about me. I am a beast. I don't know how to find my way back to being something you can bear to look at again. But I want that desperately." He's not lying. There really is desperation in his voice, so much emotion it makes me want to pull something apart with my hands. "Only a beast could desire you so, knowing that all I do is cause you pain. But I do. I need you by my side."

I reach a terrifying impasse where all I can do is look at him. I can't turn any farther, can't pretend to ignore what he's said. I stare up into his overpowering gaze, knowing all that I feel is spelled out upon on my face. Pain, and pleading, and heartache. For everything he was supposed to be, everything I've so longed for him to be. I stopped wanting such things so long ago. Didn't I?

His calloused hand on my face makes my eyelids flutter, and it's only then that a traitorous little waterdrop trickles down my cheek. I imagine that he sees it reflect the moonlight back at him and it triggers the animal within, because the look I see on his face is raw. I can tell from that face alone that he's too far gone to stop now, no matter who it hurts. That's the beast I know.

He kisses me. I expect him to bite and devour, but he doesn't try to overpower me, even though I can feel his desperation. It's possible, it seems, to kiss hard without being... harsh. My thoughts don't even make sense anymore; my head swims. I'm certain I'm in some fever dream. Only physical sensation tells me otherwise. My pulse leaping in my chest, the smell of him filling my nose and mouth, the feel of his fur cloak between my fingers. I make some goddess-forsaken noise, a pitiful moan in the back of my throat, and it only makes him hold me tighter, kiss me more insistently.

The pain of it threatens to overpower the bliss. My cheeks are shamefully wet. Am I some maiden, weeping in his arms? I finally can't take any more of it, pushing and clawing at his cloak until he pulls away enough for me to speak. I shove him a little as I growl out my words, but he barely budges.

"How dare you do this now?" _Not when I needed you, but when I had finally decided to leave._ When I had convinced myself that even if the Dimitri I knew wasn't entirely dead, he could be dead to me, if I chose. I could move on.

His hand is absurdly large on my cheek. His palm slicks against my tears like they might soak into his scars and callouses and make him whole again. He should know by now nothing will do that. Not even this. Why is he doing this?

But I know the answer, of course. To keep me here. But what if _I'm_ not happy here? When the fuck does what Felix wants come into the picture?

But what I want—what I've always wanted—is for Dimitri fucking Blaiddyd to look at me the way he is right now. I always pictured I'd be able to see both his eyes if it theoretically happened, but shit doesn't always work out the way you expect, I guess.

I can see the apology perched on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't let it free. I'm glad. I may have slapped him. Instead, he puts both his hands on my face and sighs softly, his long hair tickling down from where his head towers above mine, tipped down to face me. With tenderness that makes me want to tear him apart, he holds my face and lowers his lips down to mine again.

It's like he thinks he can heal all he's done, if he just kisses me sweetly enough. I hate him for it, and I hate myself, because I can feel all the little cracks inside filling with an aching warmth. When I just allow myself to feel the desire for him, now that it's not forbidden, it's... It does something to me I can't explain.

Hesitantly, my fingers brush against his hair. Dimitri sighs softly, leaning just a little into my touch. Giving me permission—begging me, even. I've always wanted to touch his hair. It's not neat and clipped the way it used to be, but even at this untamed length, it at least gets brushed and trimmed now. It's... soft. Warm. Even warmer, the closer I get to his scalp. My fingers flatten against it, and it feels magnificent, to touch him this way with our lips doing this slow dance.

It's only when he gently breaks away that I realize where we are, and what we've been doing. I haven't heard anyone, but then, I haven't exactly been at full attention.

"Will you follow me?" he asks. Once his meaning sinks in, my cheeks burn hotly. Much too forward, of course, for him to casually ask me to come to his room. He has to phrase it like that, framed in flowers.

"You don't have to," he adds when he sees my reaction.

"Shut up already," I mutter, soft enough to be a whisper. I don't seem to have found my voice yet. I spare a look over my shoulder, a self-conscious urge that I wish I could take back, before stepping around him to lead the way to the king's bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You tried mercenary work? It might suit you.


	4. The King's Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since anyone has been in Dimitri's room, and since he and Felix have been alone together at all. A little recalibration is in order.

I work hard to find my composure along the way. He's put me in a headspace I'm much too vulnerable in, and it's making my head cloudy. I despise that lack of control. By the time we're in his quarters and the door is shut behind us, my shoulders are square again.

I look around; they're not the same rooms he had as a boy, but they're similar. Certainly not the royal chambers. Still too afraid of the ghosts there, it seems. For once, I choose not to comment on ghosts.

"Much like I expected," is all I say. By which I mean barren and rarely slept-in. Sure, it's nice; there's a very fancy fireplace, and shining decorative swords and shields mounted on the walls, but nothing... personal. It looks more like a guest suite. I get the impression he doesn't spend much time here.

"I'm told it needs a personal touch," Dimitri says, the shadow of a joke in his tone.

"Sorely." I wander around the room. This part of the suite may be fairly empty, but the farther I go, I see pieces of Dimitri scattered around. Once I come to the archway of the wall separating this room from his actual chambers, I turn back only to see him standing in exactly the same spot, frozen in front of the entrance.

"Something the matter?" I'm intimately aware that many things are the matter, but something specific seems to have him glued to the spot. He breathes a wry laugh. Wry, but a little genuine, too. I haven't seen the curve of his lips curl quite that way in a long time. I'm a little mesmerized by it for a moment.

"I haven't had anyone in my quarters for... some time." The dark thoughtfulness that would usually overtake him after a comment like that is chased quickly away by something warm inside that makes the fine lines by his eye deepen slightly. "It feels strange, is all."

"I can go," I offer. This is bizarre. Dimitri is smiling. I'm offering playfully to leave and not even meaning it... Has something really shifted, or are we drunk on one stupid, forbidden kiss?

"Don't even speak of it," he tells me smoothly. It makes me grin, which I'm still hesitant to let him see, so I turn my head quickly and disappear into his personal side of the suite. I finally hear his steps follow suit, and his silhouette finally comes into view, hulking and too big for the room.

"At least take off that damn bear pelt," I say. I have no idea what kind of pelt it is, actually, but it's a fair guess. He doesn't correct me, instead obeying and unclasping it from his shoulders. The cloak has its own special hook, apparently, which he gently lays it upon. Goddess, that thing looks like it weighs a ton. Honestly, I should try training with it on, just for a workout.

Seeing his shoulders without it, it's clear that he both is more suited to it, and has benefited from its weight. A man could stand on his shoulders and not slip, that's how solid they are. Sure, he's less bulky without the cloak, but he's still a god damn unit of a man. The shape of the thing makes him look slouched, but in reality, he's as straight-shouldered as ever. It would take more than a dozen tragedies to beat the good posture out of a prince, I suppose.

I realize I'm staring. So does Dimitri, but neither of us shy away from it. It's needed. I feel as though I've been avoiding looking at him for years. He's so different, but so much the same. His clothes, now, are more similar to the ones he would wear before we went to the academy, rather than the full armor I'd see him in during the war. The only remnant of that dark time is the length of his hair and the patch over his eye. And the look on his face, perhaps. But right now it's a blank slate. If he's sad, he doesn't show it.

"Am I different than you remember?" he asks, as though he's reading my thoughts off a page. Now a tinge of sadness does show through, like a drop of blood in a pool of water. "I don't know the last time you've truly looked at me."

My knee-jerk reaction is to tell him it's a stupid question. But it's a juvenile reaction, and I bite it back.

"Me either. I try not to." He's quiet. I appreciate that he doesn't try to apologize again, because I can tell he wants to. "You're the same. For the most part. Just with longer hair and a tacky eye patch."

He laughs. Actually _laughs._ It takes me off guard so much that I grin with brief, unbridled glee. And then, of course, smother it with a more appropriate, smug look.

"Before you offer... you don't have to take it off. I don't care." We've had enough heartfelt moments for the evening. I don't need him to rip off his damn eye patch and show his gnarly scars as though he's revealing his true ugliness, or some shit. I know who he is, ugly marks and all. It's almost imperceptible, but I think I see his ruler-straight shoulders dip a little in relief.

"Thank you." He stalls a moment by undoing his sword belt, laying it on a table off to the side along with his blade. He faces away from me as he goes on. "...But I think I will, if you don't mind. I usually do at night."

Ah. Right. "Do as you like. I just... wanted you to know."

Know what? That I love him whether he's wearing a dumb eye patch or sporting an eyeless socket? Now that I think of it, I would certainly be horrified if that was what was really under there—but the reality is that I've briefly seen him without it, during the war, and it's just a run-of-the-mill scar. Some discoloration in his iris, but nothing too garish. He's silly to wear the patch. But then, he's always been sensitive about things like scaring children.

Yes, I am skipping right over that _I love him_ thing, thank you. It's just a word. 

"Shall I make a fire?" he offers. "I have drinks, as well. Brandy, wine..." He's nervous now that the patch is off, and we're alone together, and the room is so quiet. Anything to fill up the silence. But then, I haven't exactly tried to get comfortable either. We're both scared, green boys in this arena.

"Calm down, will you." But it is drafty in here, and if there's anything that would help right now, it's a drink. "I'll make the fire. You get the drinks." He doesn't have time to argue, because I'm halfway over to the fireplace already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least they're smiling? It's fun to imagine the small interactions they would usually have that they haven't in so long. And how those might change, now that things are more honest between them. However it goes, I think it'll be a long night.


	5. Kinder To Let You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally we see some of what Dimitri is thinking. He's a bit single-minded toward the end, though...

When was the last time he was willingly in my presence?

Felix's presence is balm to the soul. It's sappy as poetry, but it's true. We're sitting on the floor before the fire. There are perfectly good chairs behind our backs, but he sat on the floor, so I followed suit. It feels like older times, times I chastise myself for reminiscing upon. Times at the academy, or even before then, when we were boys and he still looked at me with a special something in his dark eyes. Hope, I suppose. Admiration.

He's much more guarded now, but at least he looks at me. He's taken his own advice and removed his cloak, along with his boots. He sits with one leg bent, his elbow resting on his knee and a drink in hand. The leg that stretches out straight before him looks deceptively long from this angle, and as flattering as it is, I know his... slight stature. Long-legged, sure, but shorter than most. He's always hated it.

I mislike the idea that he wouldn't be so relaxed around me without the alcohol, but I allow him to loosen up however he pleases. It's been... a difficult road. I don't expect him to unwind so easily.

I run my fingers through my hair, allowing a rare breeze onto my face. The brandy is making me warm within, and the fire warm without. Even with the drink, though, it's difficult to relax. Felix's words from earlier echo through my mind.

_How dare you do this now?_

There's a deep twinge of pain in my chest. Only a few words, whispered in a dark corridor, but they spoke volumes. Of how he's felt, how deeply I've hurt him, and for how long. It's pure selfishness that brings him in this room with me now. It would have been kinder to let him go.

"What?" Felix asks flatly. I look up, startled. "You're staring into the fire. Don't go away. What is it? Just say it."

We've been speaking candidly, even happily, for a while now. He had to expect I'd ruin the mood sometime. I chuckle softly.

"Sorry." I consider my words. I won't lie to him, of course. But to hurt him any more...

No. The only hurt, now, can be the withholding of my thoughts.

"I was thinking if it'd have been kinder to let you go."

"Hmf." Felix looks down at his glass, swirling the brandy about gently. He's quiet long enough that I wonder if I truly have ruined the mood. His face reveals nothing. "I suppose you want an answer," he says without inflection.

"No." My voice is low, but certain. I don't want him to go out of his way to say painful things for my sake. That answer startles him; he looks up from his glass.

"No?"

"No. I told you, Felix. I'm a selfish man. If you're here with me... I don't care about the rest."

What a beastly thing to say. I wait for him to tell me so. But if any of this right now makes up for any of what I've done to him up until this moment... then no matter what, I want him here.

He looks into my eyes for a long time. Both of them, for once. As soon as I think I see a thought or feeling cross his face, it's gone again. It's the most honest conversation we've ever had, both the part said aloud and this part, silent and with our eyes.

After what seems like a lifetime, Felix lifts his glass to his mouth and drains down what remains in it. He sets it on the small table nearby and gets up on his knees. Rather than storming away from me, like I'm used to, he comes closer.

I set my glass aside as well, instinctively. He's upon me before I know it, his knees settling on either side of where I sit. My hands grip his waist when the slinging of his leg over my much wider body almost makes him lose his balance. But, of course, I should give him more credit. Even after a few drinks, a swordsman like him wouldn't fumble so easily.

I let Felix do as he pleases; he deserves some selfishness of his own. Unlike my earlier assault, it's he who kisses me, now. I sigh against his lips, basking in the warm weight of him, in the slick feel of his lips. His body says everything I need. His fingers in my hair tell me he wants to stay with me, too. His lips say he's always wanted this. We could go the rest of our lives never saying a word, that's how clearly I understand him when he speaks to me this way.

But I want it all. I want this, and his words, and even his tantrums and biting criticism. Forever.

The closer we become, the hotter the fire burns in my belly. It's not the brandy. My breaths come shallow and hard, and I grip him as close to me as I can. He's no longer sitting up on his knees; at my insistent pulling, he's now in my lap, and the full weight of him presses down upon me. I need him so painfully.

"Felix," I groan, like a parched man begging for water. He responds only with a low moan, and the vulnerable sound of it pulls strongly in my groin. He's no fool; he can surely feel the desperation he's created, pressing shamefully up against him. But I'm compelled to tell him, to say the words I've swallowed for so long. "I need you," I whisper urgently.

He breathes raggedly against my mouth between savage kisses; his only response, for a moment, is to squeeze tightly at the hair on the back of my head. I can't help but feel he's taking a tiny piece of revenge right now, savoring my thirst and holding a dripping water skin over my head. The natural rhythm in our movements becomes more purposeful; he pushes down on my erection in gentle rocks of his hips. I feel myself go feral all over again, watching the change in his face as he teases me. His cheeks burn red, and his lips hang open slightly with an expression I've never seen on him. Only imagined.

Ashamed as I am to admit it, I've lain with another before. Just one. The desperation for physical release amid a storm of death and terror was too overpowering. But I dared not look into their face. It wasn't their face I wanted to see. It was this one, even if it had some hateful look upon it. Felix, saying my name, looking back at me the way he always does, with his duality of hate and desire he feels for me. I want it all. 

"Then take me," he tells me lowly. It's not some playful taunt. It's a command. As clearly as he spoke to me before, he tells me now: that's what he needs from me. _Then take me. You bastard. You coward._ _Do it now, or never._

Words escape me. I go blank, in a way. Things I'd thought to worry about before—going slowly, making sure of what he wants, laying him gently on my bed—all that escapes me. We're both fumbling at the front of his vest, fighting to see who'll get it off. A button rattles to the floor somewhere, and the vest is thrown aside. His shirt, too. He tears at mine, and I help him, until one way or another it's gone. I hold him strongly by the waist, so small in my grasp, and keep him as close as possible. 

He yelps slightly when I pull the tie loose from his hair. It falls, a rare sight, in dark tumbles down to his shoulders. He hasn't the time to glare at me for taking him off-guard; my face is buried in his neck, taking in the scent of him. I curl my fingers into the back of his hair, gently squeezing a handful of its soft warmth as I suck desperate kisses into his neck. 

Felix moans. It burns me to cinders. I've never heard him make such a noise. If I'm a beast, then he is now, too, speaking to me only in carnal noises. I sink my teeth into his skin, and he does it again, pleading and unhinged. 

Oh, yes. I can't have enough. I suck and bite until he's begging me with all but words, rocking in my lap like he can't bear to stay still. The front of his trousers is a hard bulge against my abdomen. I indulge in him until I absolutely have to have more, and that's when I thrust him from my lap and onto his back before the fire. 

I barely take the time to admire the way he looks, bare-chested and panting for me with bright red stains on his throat. I simply dive back in for the kill. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it would have been kinder to let him go. But it's definitely hotter if he stays. 
> 
> P.S. The next chapter will likely have this fic updated to Explicit rather than Mature. So if that's not your cup of tea, keep that in mind. If it is... stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to yuuen for pushing me to work more on this and actually post it. If the beginning is a little jarring, it's because it was my first time writing in at least four months. Hope you enjoy it!


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